


I Heard a Rumor

by AJadeLion



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Bittersweet Ending, Childhood Nostalgia, M/M, War is bad, borderline suicidal mindset but it's not explicit, implied/pre relationship depending on how you want to read it, mid timeskip, mid war, no major spoilers, not relationship centric, roughly canon compliant but also liberties and hand waving were taken
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 18:35:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20140096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AJadeLion/pseuds/AJadeLion
Summary: After spending time apart due to their duties in the war, Felix is injured and Sylvain feels lost.They have a talk that's long overdue.Turns out war isn't easy for either of them and childhood isn't as far gone as they might think.





	I Heard a Rumor

**Author's Note:**

> Hey folks, so what I intended to write was a wartime relationship-centric piece. But I'm ace and my brain is all angst and so it turned into Sylvain is Sad, Hates War and borderline Wants to Die hours. I did try to keep some of the relationship aspects involved at least to be implied. But you don't have to read it as romantic is you don't want. 
> 
> It's kind of wild writing during wartime because personalities change but I still don't want to be that far out of line so hopefully, it works.
> 
> I just really love these kids okay?

“Sylvain. I heard a rumor you were stopping by.” 

Sylvain isn’t sure exactly what he expected Felix’s first words to him to be but he knows he wasn’t expecting it to be accompanied by even half a smile. Sure it’s weary and tight, but it’s Felix. Weary and tight have been part of his smile since he was a kid. With his hair covering all of his right and most of his left eyes, it’s impossible to read what Felix is really thinking but Sylvain doesn’t care.

Seeing even that half-smile starts to force the corners of Sylvain’s mouth into what feels like his first genuine smile in ages. He spends so much time these days putting on a smile and a brave face for the soldiers that he’s all but forgotten smiling is suppose to happen organically.

He steps closer to Felix, simultaneously full of desire to pull in him tight and terror of breaking him. It feels wrong to be dressed for combat while Felix isn’t. Through the thin white material, Sylvain can make out the blue and purple outline of the bruising around the still closing wound up Felix’s ribs “I heard a rumor that your father had you on house arrest.” 

Felix flashes a familiar scowl “It’s not house arrest.” He takes a single step back away from Sylvain but it’s enough to send a clear jolt of pain up his entire right side. 

For half of a long second Sylvain contemplates how best to catch Felix should he simply _fall_. He doubts Felix should even be standing but doesn’t want to bring it up since a fight is the last thing he came here for.

It’s understandable that Rodrigue wants to keep Felix out of the public eye. For starters, it’s clear he’d be a danger to himself or others out on the battlefield. But also Sylvain can’t imagine the troops seeing him like this. Seeing their young prodigy Felix Hugo Fraldarius so damaged and wounded could not possibly do anything good for their morale. 

Sylvain shakes his head lightly “Oh right, right, my mistake, it was supposed to be bed rest but even your father knew that was a pipe dream.”

Felix turns with a quiet huff, “Are you going to sit down?” 

“Are you?” Sylvain challenges. 

Felix pointedly does not take an actual seat on an actual chair but since he’s leaning against the back of the loveseat, Sylvain will take it as a win. 

He’s not really in the mood for sitting either and so Sylvain takes his time taking a tour around the room. It’s a practical space. Minimal furniture, mostly neatly kept bookshelves. On the walls, where paintings might once have hung, tactical maps spread far and wide. 

During a war where their land is under siege and people die every day, it seems wrong to use the term hostile takeover in reference to living room decorations. But that’s what it feels like. This isn’t a place for living anymore. This isn’t a home. If he’s come here for comfort he’s not going to get it from the place but rather the person in it. 

Finally, something strikes his attention as out of place and...oddly familiar? “Hey,” Sylvain picks it up and contemplates it between his hands “This teddy bear is mine.” 

Felix lifts a skeptical eyebrow, though the gesture is only half visible under his hair “What are you going on about? I’ve had that since I was 15.”

Chuckling, Sylvain wraps his arms around the plush animal. It’s been well-loved over the years, still clean and soft but having lost some of the shine he remembered it having fresh off the shelf of the shop.

“I mean I guess technically that’s true, but I only gave it to you because you had pneumonia. I assume that you’re no longer deathly ill?” Despite his fond grin, Sylvain feels a shiver run up his spin. It’s not an entirely pleasant memory. Sure Felix had been stupid stubborn while sick before but that was the first time Sylvain had to watch him struggle to breathe because of it. 

It reminds Sylvain too much of the times his own throat has burned. Of the times his own lungs have been crushed. All the times he wanted to scream but couldn't. 

Clearly, it hasn’t had the same lasting impact on Felix because he straightens his spine and scoffs, “Please. I was never _that _ sick.” 

‘Not _that_ sick’ was exactly what Felix had repeatedly said that say after he could no longer protest that he was only a little sick, or not at all sick as he had for the previous days. For a kid who people always said was changing, some things about seem exactly the same. 

“Agree to disagree on this one Fe. I was _there_ when you collapsed. Maybe you don’t remember it, thanks the fever boiling your brain, but I do.” 

As if reading some of the fear in Sylvain’s eyes, some of the stubborn edge in Felix’s expression melts away “Hm.” 

“I didn’t buy the bear for you but you were so pathetic in bed like that, that it only seemed fair.” 

“Well, the girl you bought it for? Is she still in your life?” It figures than Felix would be able to put two and two together to figure that if Sylvain hadn’t bought the bear for him, it had been for his latest girl of interest. 

Her name was Emmalie, Sylvain only remembers this because, on the bear’s blue bow tie, the letters _EM_ are carefully stitched. As soon as they'd seen it in the shop, she’d gazed up at him with a cunning smile and said ‘You know my friends call me Em?’ 

And no, Sylvain hasn’t spoken a single word to her since he tucked his present for her under the pillow of his friend’s sickbed. But. But. Here’s the thing. He has seen her. In fact, he saw her just last week, he saw her in full armor with an axe over her shoulder. Getting ready to defend her country. What he hasn’t seen, is her come back. 

Would he even know if she’s dead? Who would tell him? How many people have died that he doesn’t even know about? Cece was always good with a bow but that doesn’t mean she’s not dead. War has never been fair like that. 

Where is the section in the history books that talks about how too often in war the good die and the stupid survive? Where’s the justice in that? 

“_Sylvain_.”

Sylvain shakes back into his body at the familiar irritated sigh of his name. But it’s not quite right, Felix isn’t just mad, he’s _worried_?

“What?” 

“What’s wrong?” Felix has pushed a hand through his hair and so now Sylvain can better see the way his whole body is being scanned as Felix searches for answers. 

“Nothing. Just got lost in thought.” It’s a dangerous habit that basically everyone he knows has been trying to get him to kick since the beginning of time. ‘It’s going to get you killed’. _Yeah_, maybe. 

Felix releases his death grip on the back of the loveseat, and places both hands on his hips “You’ve lost weight.” There isn’t much to it. No heat. No judgment. Even the concern is gone. Felix just states it as fact. 

Which, Sylvain supposes it is. It’s just sort of happened. No matter how hard he trained as a student, and he _did_ train, it was nothing compared to actually being at war. Not just the constant physical demands but the mental as well. 

Meals lack joy, lack purpose when he hasn’t just rounded up his friends and forced them to the table. Resources grow ever scarcer with every passing day and so it’s easy to excuse himself from the table after just a few minutes. 

But that’s beyond the point of why he’s here. So he does something he’s been practicing doing since childhood. Deflecting. “I can say for a fact that you have as well. And your hair is a mess.” 

“Hmph.” Felix seems unmoved. Though he does have the excuse of the recent near-death experience to put blame on. So maybe not Sylvain’s best deflection attempt. They can’t all be winners. 

Sylvain sighs. They’ve done enough awkward dancing around each other. That’s not how they’re supposed to be. Especially not today. So he swallows his pride and starts to tell the truth. 

“Sorry. I don’t mean to be like that. I’m just tired. I’m tired of this being the reason we talk. I miss us.” Sylvain laughs to himself. He might sound dumb but at this point what does he have to lose? He might as well keep talking, “ I miss the theater. I miss when I had a chance to get you to put down your sword and get you to tag along to the Globe. Just take three hours out of the day to see what other lives are out there.”

It isn’t hard to see that this isn’t what Felix wants to hear. His head drops and he shakes it in disbelief. 

Sylvain averts his eyes and instead turns his attention to the corner where a heap of damaged weapons sits unattended. By pulling hard on each of the fingers on his right hand three times, he resists the urge to walk over and correctly straighten and space out the five repaired swords leaning against the wall. 

This must be what Felix is going to keep himself busy while he’s trapped and alone. Weapons maintenance. On one hand, being left alone with weapons is kind of all Felix has ever wanted. But on the other, Sylvain still can’t shake the feeling that this doesn’t feel quite right. 

For the first time, it really hits Sylvain that Felix has no sword or weapon anywhere on his person. He’s _vulnerable_ in a way that he hasn’t been in ages. 

Finally, Felix sighs and Sylvain turns so that their eyes can properly meet. “Speak for yourself. I’m doing exactly what I was raised to do. I’m who I was always meant to be. What’s the point in daydreaming?”

What he was raised to do. Of course, how could Sylvain forget? Felix was raised to wield a sword, to fight, save lives and to die for the cause. 

_Die_. It goes unspoken but Sylvain knows they’re both thinking about it. For years now Felix has assumed he’ll die on the battlefield as a soldier. And for most of those years, Sylvain was there to make sure he _didn’t_. But now he’s not. All he can do now is pray and hope and hold his breath every time the mail arrives. 

Sylvain also remembers when Felix didn’t accept this as his fate. When was angry at being asked to live and die only for his sword. When he just wanted to be allowed to live by his own heart. When they were young naive teenagers and tried to run from their respective fates. They’d run as far and long as they could only to have the weight of reality drag them back.

Neither of them are firstborn sons and yet they both carry the burden of one. It isn’t fair. Nothing about the system is fair. Though why in holy hell Sylvain still expects anything in life to be fair is beyond him. 

Sylvain has to believe that that spirit is still in Felix somewhere. That despite everything that’s happened, he’s not talking to a stranger. But if he is still in there, he’s buried deep, deep beneath loss and anger and trauma. He’s not going to be able to reach him by being subtle. 

“You say that now but I still remember you as a bright-eyed kid. I remember when you broke your ankle sneaking out the window because Cerine Caron was in town performing. Maybe you were raised for this, trained for war but that doesn’t mean you’re happy doing it.”

Felix stares back, eyes cold as he chews on his lip. Finally, as a fellow practiced deflector, he shoots back “What are you saying?”

Which, honestly is a valid question. What is he saying? What’s the point of digging all this up? What’s the point in thinking about it when it’s not going to help them survive this war? Sylvain isn’t going to be able to justify this with reason.

“I want to know if you remember being the kid who knew the entirety of the final speech from Orion’s greatest play by heart.” 

Felix makes a choked sound that could be a laugh, could be a cough or could be anywhere in between “Greatest play?”

Sylvain scowls. Growing up there weren’t a lot of students his age who properly appreciated the greatest playwright of their time. Francis Orion did not just stick to one genre. She did them all. And she did them all masterfully. Sometimes she even blended genres, transcending lines in a way that previously no one had dared to. 

So yes, he’s ‘dragged’ Felix to the Globe every time one of her shows was being put on. He’d done one-man productions of his favorite scenes during the holidays. But there’s one play that Sylvain basically worships. That can calm Felix down when he’s panicking. 

“_Loss of the North_,” Sylvain says, even though there could never be another answer. “Don’t play dumb with me Fe.”A knowing smile spreads onto Felix’s face and he suddenly starts crossing the room. He’s remarkably steady on his feet for the pace he’s setting but every step he takes with his injured leg sends a dagger of pain into Sylvain’s chest. 

‘_Failure_.’ A voice in his mind hisses ‘_Failure, you let this happen_’. Sylvain presses his eyes shut and silently counts his breath for two eights. Eventually, he’s able to find his voice again “Please stop hobbling around, you’re making my leg hurt.” 

Admittedly it’s a little bit of a cheap out. His left hip does throb but it’s not fair to pin that on Felix when it’s been doing that for the last week ever since he took a nasty spill when Lady Meadows spooked and threw him. What he wouldn’t give to trade the bruising on his hip for a bruise to his pride from having Dimitri or Ingrid there to laugh at him for such an amateur failure of horsemanship. 

Felix’s fingers brush Sylvain’s exposed shoulder and he flinches so suddenly that Felix nearly stumbles. They mutter hurried apologies in unison but neither even attempts to look the other in the eye. 

Sylvain’s throat burns. A lifetime of pulling away whenever someone tries to touch him has severed more ties than he cares to admit. But despite his outward sharp edge, Felix has always been one of the select few people Sylvain doesn’t flinch away from. Until today, apparently. As if there weren’t enough signs they’ve been apart for too long. 

“What?” He breathes finally trusting himself to open the cover to make sure the authenticity continues beyond the exterior. Sure enough, the first slightly yellowed page reads _Loss of the North by F. Orion_. A cast of characters list on the next. It’s real. “Wher-How did you get this?” __

_ _Felix rubs the back of his neck as something that looks suspiciously like a blush colors his cheeks. Any embarrassment he feels though, does nothing to his dry wit “You’re probably happier not knowing.” _ _

_ _Sylvain laughs. An only slightly hysterical sound. They’re at war. Of course, Felix isn’t walking into an antique book shop tracking down rare copies of play scripts. He knows he should care, he knows it should matter. But he just, he can’t bring himself to care at all. He’s too busy being happy. Being happy that he was right. This means that Felix remembers too. That he’s not crazy. That he’s not alone. _ _

_ _Wordlessly he shakes his head. Wordlessly he closes the book and gestures abstractly with his free hand. _ _

_ _“What’s wrong now?” Felix’s scowl returns. _ _

_ _Sylvain simply continues to gesture vaguely at the wall behind him. _ _

_ _“Are you having a heart attack? Do I need to call a healer?” _ _

_ _Sylvain shakes his head once more, trying desperately to regain something resembling composure. “No, no I’m alright. This is just incredible.” _ _

_ _It’s Felix turn to laugh softly. He digs at the floor with his right foot for a moment before bringing himself to actually look up “I’ve been holding on to it for a little while now. I was waiting for-” He cuts himself off with a deep breath, “Happy birthday Sylvain.”_ _

_ _Sylvain swears the earth drops out from beneath them. That’s exactly what today is. The thing that he’s been trying really hard to not think about. He’s been trying not to acknowledge anything that indicates the concrete passage of time. Not while their lives are still like this. “Really? You-really?”_ _

_ _Felix tips his head “That’s why you’re here isn’t it? You’re lonely on your birthday?” _ _

_ _Sylvain’s throat constricts. That’s exactly why he’s here. Every day he hopes that today is the day that things get easier. He doesn’t want to get used to it but he needs it to get easier. They don’t and even so he refuses to give up. But if there’s one day he should be allowed to be selfish it should be his birthday. _ _

_ _Instead, he says, “I’m not allowed to just be worried about you?”_ _

_ _Felix exhales sharply and holds a hand out to keep Sylvain from getting too close, “Despite common belief Sylvain, I know you’ve never done a truly spontaneous thing in your life. I would have come to you but my father...”_ _

_ _Speaking of cheap ways out, it’s not fair to blame Rodrigue for that. No one in their right mind would let Felix travel through dangerous territory while still early in such a sensitive recovery. But, that’s not what Sylvain cares about. ‘_Come to you_’. Felix had wanted to visit him. This isn’t just Sylvain being weak and giving in to desire. Felix wants him to. And if that’s the case maybe, just maybe he can tell the truth. _ _

_ _“I know. I talked to him earlier. You’re right, this is far from spontaneous. You might be cut out for this but I’m not. I was never meant to actually have to lead people in battle. Everyday all I can do is try. But I just can’t do that today. I don’t think I can look anyone in the eye today and tell them I’m happy to be here.”_ _

_ _Maybe the goddess is really still up there because, by some minor miracle, Sylvain’s voice doesn’t give out halfway through him deciding to spill his emotions. _ _

_ _Almost equally amazing is Felix not pulling away or gruffly brushing him off, but instead taking Sylvain’s free hand and limping over until they’re sitting side by side on the love seat. _ _

_ _“Sylvain. I know you, You fight for a family and a country that don’t deserve your blind devotion but as long as innocent lives are at stake you don’t care. You’re going to be on the front lines fighting until either this war is over or you’re six feet under.” Sylvain lowers his gaze and he notices just how white Felix’s knuckles have gone as he digs his nails into his palms. His breath shakes before he continues “And uh, I really hope it’s the former.” _ _

_ _Sylvain is used to Felix’s roundabout ways of expressing affection. It runs in the family, there’s no point in trying to teach it out of him. What he’s not used to is Felix’s voice cracking on the second to last word._ _

_ _With a shocked sigh, Sylvain lets his head fall to his hands, leaning forward onto his legs. He feels mildly dizzy, though the pounding of his heart makes it hard to tell if it’s from terror or relief._ _

_ _Once he’s pretty confident that he’s not actually about to pass out while sitting down, he places a hand on top of Felix’s anxiously twitching ones “Are you trying to make me cry?”_ _

_ _“No. Quite the opposite really.” In a moment that Sylvain would find laughable were he not already a mess of emotions, Felix flashes a hurt look at the concept of being accused of trying to make Sylvain cry._ _

_ _“In that case, I’m not sure it’s quite working,” Sylvain says in an attempt to see if laughter can burn off the tears rapidly stinging at his eyes._ _

_ _Felix pulls his hand free from under Sylvain’s so he can grab the teddy bear he’s snatched back while Sylvain was busy having a breakdown over a book. Using his uninjured left arm, he presses it protectively against his heart before starting talking. _ _

_ _“I saw the book and I was reminded of when you first introduced me to the damn thing. I had so many options for a role model growing up but it was always you. Your heart is good Sylvain. We don’t deserve it. If you lose yourself in this war, I’m not going to be able to be anyone who isn’t just ‘Felix wielding a sword’. If you’re saving me, I figure I should try and return the favor.” _ _

_ _Felix takes one look at Sylvain’s stunned expression and immediately tries to backtrack “On your birthday at least.” _ _

_ _It lacks any of his usual cutting edge and as far as attempted deflections go it probably doesn’t even make Felix’s all-time top 100 oneliners. _ _

_ _What Sylvain hears though, what matters to Sylvain, is that despite everything, Felix does still remember and want to be someone more than just his sword. That he still wants, _needs_ Sylvain as much as Sylvain still wants, _needs_ him. _ _

_ _The attempted misdirection is not enough to stop Sylvain from sobbing. From keeping his entire body from trembling as he digs the heels of his palms into his eyes. Faintly he wonders if this is why Felix forced him to sit down because based on the way his legs are shaking, there’s no way they would be able to support his weight. _ _

_ _“Save me? You’re putting a lot of pressure on one book, aren’t you? But don’t worry, we have a deal, right? I’m not going to go changing on you as long as you don’t go changing on me. ” _ _

_ _“Well then that’s settled then is it?” _ _

_ _Sylvain’s fingers curl around the book as Felix’s dig further into the bear’s skin. They wrap themselves around every promise they’ve ever made each other. Every lie they’ve ever told. Every mistake ever made. Every action that’s led them here, to this bright spot in this never-ending war. _ _

_ _As the buzz of the moment, of feeling every emotion at once, wears off, Sylvain’s body grows heavy. He slumps over and curls in on himself until he finds himself with his head in Felix’s lap. _ _

_ _Felix grunts, his exhale a surprised gasp. Sylvain instantly pulls back “Am I hurting you?” _ _

_ _“No,” Felix says, pushing Sylvain’s head back down “Not at all.” _ _

_ _They sit and breathe in contemplative silence for a moment. They’re both out of words after unexpectedly spilling long bottled emotions. _ _

_ _Eventually, Felix gently uses his index finger to trace a line down Sylvain’s jaw where the scar from a much worse summer day has long since faded, “Do you have you go?” _ _

_ _“Yes,” Sylvain says. Because war is cruel like that. As much as he feels like he never wants to stand up, he knows neither of them could live like this. Not really. Not now. They have to keep believing in their someday. _ _

_ _If Loss of the North has taught them anything, it’s that distance is not the end-all, be-all to deciding their fate. _ _

_ _“Happy birthday Sylvain.” Felix sighs and with a bittersweet smile adds, “Don’t be a stranger.”_ _

**Author's Note:**

> I think it goes without saying that everyone in this game has PTSD induced/enhanced anxiety and depression. Not that it really comes up in the piece but I do also imagine Felix as someone with ADD/ADHD of some kind (he's impulsive, irritable, does Not stay still, doesn't like the structure of the classroom environment) and while it's probably more of a stretch I kind of see Sylvain with mild OCD (hyper fixated, daydreams, likes organized and clean spaces, anxious about things out of his control). 
> 
> You bet you're going to see more of these idiots from me someday in the future.  
(Would I even write about The Time Felix collapsed from pneumonia or broke his ankle climbing out a window? Or that mystery faded scar on Sylv's face? I'm not saying no.)


End file.
